Being as it's the Last One Ever
it should be triumphant, finally final.
The great culmination of nineteen
thousand, two hundred plus hours;
I spend it dozing to Fratellis radio
and study materials with too lengthy answers;
then trauma in the witching hours,
stab wound to the neck finds me
pilfering textbooks at three am.
Her stoic lips tell no stories, so
we settle for the men in blue.
The ghosts are close pre-dawn,
another face, eyes heavy with PCP-
lack of oxygen but somehow lucid.
If I sit up and open my eyes,
I can stare out the window into yours-
of a distant past reality, of course.
The skyline has subtly changed
but the sunsets are always the same.
We began the countdown
only to to find ourselves surprised
to arrive at zero.
16 June 2012
1803
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